


Cross My Heart

by FirebirdsDaughter



Category: Kamen Rider Zero-One
Genre: 'tentacles' might not be the perfect term but I dunno what else to call them, M/M, Mutual Non-Con, Tentacle Rape, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, also she talks like a b-porno sometimes, but I mean what would you be if you were made out of human malice, i dunno how else to tag this, stuff that decidedly does not go There, the Ark is a creep, the Ark is a sick fuck, yes I can make fun of my shit sexy talk but you know what I think it suits her, you know what for lack of a better word
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-16
Updated: 2020-09-16
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:48:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26492161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FirebirdsDaughter/pseuds/FirebirdsDaughter
Summary: Fuwa comes across the unexpected in a storm.
Relationships: Ark/Horobi (Kamen Rider Zero-One), Fuwa Isamu/Ark/Horobi (Kamen Rider Zero-One), Fuwa Isamu/Horobi (Kamen Rider Zero-One)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 14





	Cross My Heart

**Author's Note:**

> So… Uhhh… Hm. Been at this a while. I meant it to just be a tidbit, but it got away from me. A lot.  
> I dunno about quality, I'm gonna have to leave that alone.  
> Basically, I got to a little frustrated we didn't see more of the Ark's grey goo stuff. So, naturally, I had to go to the worlds most horrible place w/ it.  
> And I apologise.  
> I might change the rating, I'm debating between this and Mature, but I'll go w/ this for safety for now. It doesn't feel that explicit to me, but I might have desensitised myself while writing it.  
> Also, uh, yes. I wrote this. Actually, I think when you look a some of the other ideas I come up w/ that don't involve sex, you shouldn't be too surprised. Maybe.  
> I gotta go, I might add more notes later, but… Yeah. This happened.

Fuwa had long ago made himself a promise that he would keep at least one routine, no matter what, rain or shine, winter or summer. It was one of the only ways he’d ever been able to keep himself sane, and he felt like he needed it now more than ever. So he’d gone out for his evening run at the same time he always did, despite the massive thunder storm, the rain pelting down in heavy sheets. His clothes and sneakers were soaked through, the cloth and his hair plastered to his skin, his whole body felt numb from the cold, and he was plowing through deep puddles as he went.

He very nearly slipped and fell when a haggard figure stumbled into his path, appearing like a ragged ghost through the cascade of rainwater. Vulcan scrambled to right himself again, staring in surprise at the form in front of him, wavering, bowed under some invisible weight. Slowly, the figure’s bowed head raised, and Fuwa found himself looking into a pair of familiar large eyes, brimming with uncharacteristic panic.

“… Horobi?”

The HumaGear looked… Terrible. His usual paleness appeared somehow sickly, and the multiple layers of his coat were all drenched right through, clinging to his body and making him look inhumanly thin, his hair flat against his head, the soaked head wrap so heavy with water it was beginning to slide down his forehead. He was shaking like a leaf in the torrential rain, one hand clutching his other arm tightly, and Vulcan could just barely see exposed mechanics glinting under his fingers, telling a painful story with along with a set of grey-blue scratches running across his cheek toward his jaw. The katana he usually carried was nowhere to be seen.

For a moment, Horobi did nothing but wobble and gaze pitifully at him, shivering violently, even his emulated breathing coming in deep, shaky breaths, until, finally— “Th… The Ark…” His voice was glitching, twisting and shaking, “J… Jin… I… I…!” With a small cry, the HumaGear pitched forward sharply, crashing directly into Vulcan, and Fuwa nearly fell himself trying to catch him—Horobi had gone completely deadweight, sagging against him, scrambling to grasp handfuls of his drench shirt, shaking with what sounded for all the world like soft sobs.

Vulcan’s head was spinning. Officially, they were enemies—even if he had had… ‘Complicated’ feelings about the HumaGear ever since that extended interrogation in the AIMS headquarters. But at the same time… He himself had seen the way reconnecting to the Ark had stripped away even the flickers of softness, hell, of _thought_ that had begun to light up in Horobi’s eyes. Just when he’d actually begun to think there was something else in there besides the Ark’s doctrine—maybe even something… Between them…

The HumaGear pulled even closer against him, letting out a slightly louder whimper, and Fuwa snapped back to the present, running the situation through in his head. Horobi was injured and hysterical, clinging to him in pure desperation. He remembered the way it had felt when the Ark tried to crawl into _his_ mind, all rage and hatred and pain—and she hadn’t been able to take full control of him. For Horobi… It had to be worse, trapped for so long under the control of all that anger. Hiden had said something about Horobi starting to inch back towards thinking again—it was definitely possible that something might have sparked that and cause him to flee; but there was a definite, overwhelming… Something in Fuwa’s chest in the knowledge that the HumaGear had come to _him_. Horobi clutched tighter to him again, as if that were a comfort to him, and those ‘complicated’ feelings pulled at Vulcan’s ribs again, making him wonder if it was possible that… He shook his head. First, they needed to get out of the rain.

Reaching down, he carefully pried Horobi off his torso, making sure to hold onto the HumaGear’s arms to keep him steady. “Okay, okay…” He murmured, trying to sound reassuring through the roar of the rain, “It’s okay.” He gripped Horobi’s forearms, leaning forward, trying to get the HumaGear’s attention, “Hey, hey. Look at me. _Look at me_.” At last, those wide, frightened eyes drifted up to meet his. Without thinking Fuwa’s hand shifted up to cup Horobi’s face, thumb brushing over the HumaGear’s cheek—was he imagining it, or did Horobi lean into the contact? “Let’s get inside first, okay?” No reaction. “ _Okay_?”

After another moment, the HumaGear seemed to refocus on him and nodded just enough to satisfy Fuwa. He moved quickly, shifting to pull Horobi’s good arm over his shoulders, wrapping one if his arms around the HumaGear’s waist, taking a moment to make certain he had Horobi fully supported—then tried to take a step forward and found the HumaGear to be practically limp. Gritting his teeth, he pulled Horobi closer against his side and tried once more with more success, slogging slowly through the storm back toward his apartment.

It wasn’t a long way, exactly, but it took more time than usual because of the weather and the wounded HumaGear. By the time the corner of his street came into view, Fuwa’s joints were aching, and the numbness was sinking even deeper—but he could still very much feel Horobi pressed against him, legs half dragging, head bumping against his shoulder. It was a chore to get the HumaGear up the stairs, and an absolute stroke of luck that the storm had all his neighbours hiding indoors so that they didn’t see him hauling Horobi, both of them sopping wet, down the hall to his own door, fumbling for his key. The HumaGear, along with the rest of MetsubouJinrai, had become human enemy number one to most of the populace, and Fuwa doubted his neighbours, all very average folks, would take very well to Horobi’s presence in their home.

Finally, he got the door open, them through it, and then securely locked it behind him—with a few more steps, he managed to pull the HumaGear over to the couch and gently set him down upon it, making sure he was propped up against the back before stepping away a bit, fingers resting lightly on Horobi’s shoulders. “Easy, easy…” He muttered again, to no one. Frowning, he looked the HumaGear over again, “… Can you stay up? I’m going to go get towels.” Taking a moment to see that Horobi would stay upright, Fuwa faded back and started to turn—only for the HumaGear’s good arm to snap up, fingers locking around his wrist and pulling him up short.

“Don’t…!” The word sounded more like another frightened sob, “P… Please don’t go…” Those large, entrancing eyes fixed pleadingly on Vulcan’s face, Horobi’s distractingly perfect bottom lip trembling, looking for all the world like he was about to burst into tears, or whatever the HumaGear equivalent was.

Fuwa’s heart leapt into his throat, the urge to collapse onto the sofa beside the HumaGear and gather Horobi up into his arms protectively sweeping over him. The HumaGear looked so heartbreakingly terrified and lost… He bit the inside of his cheek, hard. He needed to focus. Not get distracted by how… Infuriatingly… _Impossibly_ beautiful…

He shook his head again, reaching down to lay his hand over Horobi’s. “I’ll be right back, I promise.” The gentleness in his own voice surprised him, but he kept biting the inside of his cheek to keep his thoughts while looking into those eyes. “We just need something to dry off.” The HumaGear held on for a little longer—then, very slowly released his wrist, slumping back against the couch.

Vulcan bit his cheek even harder, turning quickly and hurrying toward the bathroom and elbowing the door mostly closed behind him. He divested himself of all his own wet clothes as quickly as possible, using one towel to dry off a little before grabbing a pair of sweatpants and an old shirt from his hamper, yanking them on. Hanging that towel around his neck, he grabbed an armful, along with the largest set of clothes he could find—pair of jeans that had been an emergency purchase and were too long, and a t-shirt he used as a pyjama shirt—and padded back to the living room.

Horobi’s head snapped back up the moment he entered, wide eyes following his every motion. Trying to pretend the bare earnestness in that gaze didn’t generate an intense ball of warmth in his chest, Fuwa set the towels and the clothes down on the sofa next to the HumaGear and straightened back up, glancing Horobi over. It was genuinely almost frightening the way the HumaGear seemed so much _smaller_ than he usually did, in a way he never had before, even after his breakdown in AIMS custody. Vulcan was absolutely certain that HumaGear couldn’t catch colds, but… Horobi looked like he was shivering, bottom lip trembling even more.

Fuwa swallowed, grabbing one of the towels from the pile. “Can… Can I…?” He held the towel out slightly, watching as the HumaGear’s frightened gaze flicked from it back up to him. At long last, the HumaGear gave another small nod, lowering his head a little. Reaching up with a slightly trembling hand, he gripped the edge of the soggy head wrap and tugged it off, hand dropping carelessly onto the sofa beside him before leaning forward slightly. Vulcan hesitated again, then swallowed, very carefully extending his own arm to cautiously run the towel over Horobi’s bleached hair—in moments, the cloth was soaked in splotches, the wet strands clinging to the plush. When the HumaGear didn’t jerk away or anything, Fuwa slowly raised his other hand, touching his fingertips to Horobi’s forehead to try and keep him steady.

Eventually, he had the HumaGear’s hair at least not quite as sopping, though the towel was drenched instead, so he tossed it onto the floor beside him and grabbed another, dropping down into a kneel. Emboldened by Horobi letting him dry his hair, he moved his hand to the HumaGear’s shoulder, squeezing experimentally. Horobi made a soft sound, looking up at him with a slightly startled expression, but not… Not in the same panicked vein as the rest of his expression; Fuwa hoped he wasn’t deluding himself in thinking that it almost looked like… Relief. Taking a deep breath, he allowed his gaze to flicker over the waterlogged mess that the HumaGear’s clothes were in. “… Are you okay to take the coat off?” All layers of the garment were absolutely drenched, but it had always seemed like it was somehow… Part of Horobi’s identity; even when Yaiba had been repairing him all those months ago. He’d be bald-face lying if he tried to claim he’d never imagined the HumaGear… Without it—but those images had always remained solidly in his more… ‘Complicated’ thoughts.

Horobi hesitated for another long moment, looking unsure—then he slowly shifted a little to fumble for his belts. After a few moments of struggling with the buckles, it became clear the HumaGear’s hands were trembling too badly to get them open, and he looked back up at Vulcan anxiously— _pleadingly_. Taking a deep breath, keeping his eyes on the HumaGear’s face to make sure everything was still fine, Fuwa very carefully reached out and set about working on the belts himself. Horobi’s gaze fluttered down to his hands, then back up to his face, and Vulcan abruptly felt like his heart was trying to crawl out of his throat at the intensity of the stare, and the… Something flashing deep in the HumaGear’s eyes. Something… ‘Complicated.’ Swallowing again, he looked away, focusing on the task of getting the numerous belts undone instead—but he could still feel Horobi watching him closely, a warm, soft feeling spreading through his ribs.

Eventually, he got the belts all open, gingerly pulling them off the HumaGear’s waist and setting them aside. He started to pull back, still trying not to push things—but then Horobi grabbed his arm again, tugging Fuwa’s hand up to the buckles on his shoulder, pressing it to his chest. Fuwa raised his head sharply to question, only to find the HumaGear’s face much closer than he’d expected, those large, gorgeous eyes locked on his features, the mysterious softness at the forefront, a confusing mix of earnestness, anxiety, desperation… And trust. Pleading. _Longing_.

Vulcan held the gaze for what felt like ages—until, without meaning to, his eyes trailed slowly down over Horobi’s features to his lips. They were no longer trembling, parted just slightly… So _damn_ perfect, so tantalisingly close…

Fuwa caught himself leaning closer when his eyes began to drop closed, and he immediately jerked back, so fast he got a crick in his neck. He tried to get up and move away, but the HumaGear kept hold of his arm, following his messy scrambling with wide, startled eyes. Vulcan swallowed again, trying to to steady his breathing—he couldn’t remember his heart speeding up, but his pulse was hammering in his chest like it intended to break his bones. “I… I…” He bit the inside of his cheek once more, “… Sorry.” He wasn’t sure what, specifically, he was apologising for, and Horobi gave him that unfairly attractive, and yet heartbreakingly innocent, frown of utter confusion he’d worn right before suffering a breakdown over Amatsu having a ZetsumeRiser. “It’s okay,” Fuwa added quickly, though he wasn’t sure what he meant by that, either, he just… Anything like hurt on Horobi’s face was… Painful to look at. “It’s… It’s okay.”

Finally, he had himself calmed down—but Horobi was still looking at him with that… That pleading, still holding his arm. Taking another deep breath, Fuwa very rigidly angled forward again, just barely enough to be able to begin working on the buckles, keeping his eyes glued solely on his work—it took everything he had to force himself to ignore the powerful, ardent stare he could still feel upon him, tickling and warming his skin right through his clothes. The HumaGear’s hand stayed on his wrist, curling around it, long fingers sliding slowly, gently up his arm, making every spot they touched tingle, just like the gaze.

It was agonising. It felt like years by the time he got the third buckle undone, pausing there for a moment to try and recollect himself again. He half expected Horobi to pull on his arm again, but instead, the HumaGear held still, fingers still brushing across his skin, sending a series of electric jolts right to his brain. Swallowing once more, Vulcan bit down even harder on the inside of his cheek, closing his eyes for a moment—when he opened, he still didn’t turn to look at Horobi’s face. “Do… Do you need me to…?” His eyes jumped to the line of buttons he could see running down the front of the patchwork coat, the wet fabric clinging to their shapes.

For a moment, the HumaGear’s fingers tightened on his arm. “… Please…”

Another deep breath, and Fuwa squared his shoulders, shifting over to begin working the buttons open, struggling to maintain his focus once more. Horobi’s hold loosened a bit again to let him move, but, if anything, the feeling of his gaze only intensified. The buttons were both less and more of a chore—it was harder to work them free of the wet fabric, but he was getting used to the… ‘Conditions.’ Eventually, he reached the last one, pulling it undone and gently peeling the soaked fabric back from the HumaGear’s body. Horobi was wearing a shirt under it, but it was just as drenched as the rest of his clothes and already incredibly thin—so it was adhered to the HumaGear’s chest in an extremely distracting fashion.

Fortunately, Horobi at last let go of his wrist, however slowly, fingertips trailing burning lines of goosebumps across his skin, allowing him to pull back a bit. Taking a moment to refocus, Fuwa swallowed again before moving to continuing removing the sopping wet coat, taking extra care in getting the sleeve off the HumaGear’s damaged arm. Horobi was completely cooperative, though he kept staring at Vulcan with that same overwhelming mixture of… So many things, the entire time, still looking so… Fragile. Frightened.

When he had the coat off, he set it aside on the back of the old armchair that didn’t match the sofa, spreading the cloth out as best he could to try and increase the likelihood of it drying. Turning back, he glanced down at the HumaGear’s boots, then risked a look at Horobi’s face, and… Any preparations he’d been making to argue melted the instant his eyes met the HumaGear’s hypnotically beautiful ones, full of entreaty. Dropping back down to one knee, he reached out and gently removed the shoes, shaking the rainwater out of them a bit before setting them aside by the coat. It wasn’t exactly a surprise to find that Horobi went barefoot in his boots, it wasn’t like he could get blisters or anything, but at the same time… There was something strangely… Innocent about it that tugged at Fuwa’s chest once more.

Awkwardly getting to his feet, Vulcan chewed the inside of his cheek again, glancing between the HumaGear and the clothes he’d set aside. Divesting Horobi of the coat and shoes was one thing—but further undressing him, under these circumstances, felt… The ‘complicated’ feelings resurfaced full force at the mere thought; his heart beat faster, and his hands itched with the urge to continue, to _see_ … The thoughts he’d tried so hard to push to the back creeping back in—baser instincts that made his eyes flicker over the HumaGear before him in a different way, that burning, needling… _Desire_ sparking in his chest again. He’d thought about—no, he’d imagined, hell, maybe even _dreamed_ of—having this opportunity before, but… Fuwa snapped his eyes shut, trying to recenter himself, then opened them and forced himself to look back into that anxious gaze. No. The situation was different. Wrong.

Horobi, fragile and shaking, soaked to the skin and looking thoroughly terrified… Was not what he… He wanted. In the… ‘Scenes’ in his head, it had always been the proud, defiant personality, the one who had challenged him, prodded him, made him… Meeting that intense gaze had made a powerful, fervent fire burst to life deep in his chest that had spread slowly downward, consuming all rational thought. The way those perfect lips would curl into a smirk, the amused tenor in that musical voice… He could still feel the hazy memory of that flame smouldering in his chest at the thought of doing more, there was definitely an edge of something in the HumaGear’s eyes that stoked the heat a bit, he was still just as dizzyingly beautiful, but it just… It was wrong. He didn’t want it like this. Continuing would feel… Intrusive. Even though Horobi had been prompting him to do the rest… It didn’t feel right. It was… Too much power. Even when straitjacketed in AIMS custody, the HumaGear had never seemed quite _this_ helpless. Taking advantage of that was something… Something _Amatsu_ would do, and that realisation made Fuwa’s stomach turn violently.

Quickly grabbing the clothes, he gently took Horobi’s arm and placed them in his palm, curling his fingers carefully around the fabric. “I…” He faltered when the HumaGear looked at him with confusion, but took another deep breath to keep his resolve, “… I’ll let you put these on.” Mustering all the fortitude he had, he forced his hands to let go of Horobi’s arm, stepping back. “I’ll… I’ll just…” He swallowed, gritting his teeth against the temptation to hesitate, keeping his eyes on the fright in the HumaGear’s look, “I’ll turn around, okay?” Without waiting, he took two more steps back and turned around, folding his arms tightly, sinking his teeth into his lip. For a very long moment, there was complete silence as he shifted from foot to foot—the urge to turn back and look was incredibly strong, but he just bit down harder on his lip. Even if it was out of… Concern, the thought still felt wrong, especially after everything he’d learned. He had to draw a line somewhere—and Horobi had to know how basic clothes worked.

Eventually, he heard movement behind him, and the rustle of cloth, and he let out a sigh he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. He waited until the sounds stopped, then a little longer just to make sure, before turning back around. Horobi had stood up, and had managed to get the clothes on—Fuwa was relieved to see that they fit at least passably, though the jeans were still a bit too short, and the shirt… Vulcan swallowed again, deliberately moving his gaze over to follow the HumaGear’s attention, which was on the injury in his arm, rolling the sleeve up his shoulder to look at it.

Cautiously, he stepped closer, searching for his voice. “… Can I see?” He wasn’t entirely sure what his logic was—he didn’t know anything about mechanics, but… He wanted to at least check the injury. To his surprise, Horobi immediately shifted, turning to face him so that he could look. Without thinking, Fuwa reached out, one hand landing on the HumaGear’s shoulder and the other on his arm right below the damage, looking closely. It almost looked like Horobi’s body had been… _Burned_ , or maybe… Decayed. Ugly black, or maybe very dark blue, tinged the edges of the wound, and there was a similarly coloured dust all over the open mechanics, like some kind of mould. All Vulcan needed was a brief glance to know there was definitely nothing he could really _do_ … But it felt wrong to just leave it in the open. His gaze shifted to the sofa, where he could see Horobi’s head wrap still sitting on the cushions, though it seemed the HumaGear had set the rest of his clothes with the coat and shoes on the chair. Fuwa frowned—he couldn’t do anything to help repair the damage… But covering it like Horobi had done with the remains of his earpieces had to be better than nothing. Glancing around the room, his eyes fell on the scarf he’d been ‘meaning to put away’ for months now. The navy camouflage had been part of his AIMS uniform, now sitting unused on a table by the door until he decided what he was going to do—technically, he and Yaiba had both been ‘invited’ back (more like they’d had to break up a fight between the original members and the ones who had been hired by ZAIA—though that _had_ been almost flattering, Fuwa hadn’t thought he’d had that much of a following), but… It was just a scarf. He could easily get a new one.

Moving back, he quickly crossed over to the table and grabbed the piece of cloth from it, returning to the HumaGear’s side while the wide, frightened eyes followed his every move. Folding the scarf to a width that would cover the wound, he wrapped it around Horobi’s arm as gingerly as possible—he’d dressed a wound on a human before, and didn’t see any reason why there would be much difference. The HumaGear was much more cooperative than any AIMS officer, though, holding perfectly still as he tied the corners off, briefly slipping his fingers underneath, just beside the damage, to make sure it wasn’t too tight. “… There.” He announced quietly, swallowing again, “We can have someone look at it later.” Suddenly realising he was standing awfully close to Horobi, he took a quick step back. The HumaGear looked between him and the makeshift bandage, the confused frown deepening for a moment.

Then he dropped like a stone.

Vulcan rushed forward, just barely catching the HumaGear again and struggling to guide him back over to the sofa. “Whoa, Whoa…!” He managed to get Horobi sitting again, though the HumaGear was still tipping forward into his chest. “Hey…” Fuwa’s hands scrambled to his shoulders, hastily pushing him back up. “Hey. Look at me.” Horobi didn’t respond, head hanging forward, “Hey!” Still nothing.

As delicately but hurriedly as he could, Fuwa reached out and carefully took hold of the HumaGear’s chin, tipping Horobi’s face up toward him, “Look at me.” The words came out much softer than he’d intended, and when he finished moving the HumaGear’s head, he realised—too late—they were far closer than he’d calculated.

For a moment, there was still no reaction—then the HumaGear’s eyes opened, slowly, blinking like there was a bright light. It took him a moment to focus on Vulcan, but eventually their gaze locked again, and then… Then Fuwa was trapped in those eyes once more, so deep and mesmerising. The softness had returned, along with all the other… ‘Complicated’ things, that Vulcan felt like he was falling into Horobi’s eyes, drowning in the HumaGear’s fervent stare. In a desperate attempt to stay anchored, Fuwa tore his eyes away, trying to look at the scratches on Horobi’s cheek—fortunately, even with Vulcan’s limited knowledge of mechanics, it was clear that those injuries, at least, were superficial, just thin, blue-grey tinged lines. But when his eyes travelled diagonally downward, following them from where they started near the crown of the HumaGear’s cheek… The slanted lines only pointed him right back to Horobi’s lips, and the overwhelming temptation to finally know what they felt like, what they… Tasted like…

He caught himself again, just in time, when he abruptly realised his face had leaned in to just a hair’s breadth from the HumaGear’s, that he practically felt the brush of Horobi’s lashes when the HumaGear’s lids drifted downward again. Hurriedly, he pulled back, loosening his hold on Horobi’s chin. “I… I’m sorry…I-”

He made to move back—but then the HumaGear’s eyes snapped back open and his good arm flashed up to catch Fuwa’s arm, gripping more tightly than a human could, though not enough to hurt. “Wait.” The word was less than a whisper, but filled with such anxious pleading that Vulcan froze where he was.

Trying to steady his breathing, Fuwa swallowed yet another time—but it didn’t seem to help much. “H… Horobi…” His pulse was speeding up again, the warmth spreading through his ribs, his mind just barely clinging to his senses by a thread. “I… I can’t…”

“Yes,” A faint growl edged the word, and Horobi tugged slightly on his arm, making him tip closer again, “You can…” The longing was back in those lovely eyes—and now… Tinged with… Fuwa’s heart sped up even more as he realised it was _desire_ , “I want you to…” _Want_.

The thread snapped. Vulcan’s reason abandoned him completely, and he closed the small distance between them, pressing his lips to the HumaGear’s. And it was… Amazing. It wasn’t his first kiss (though it was his first in a long while), but Horobi’s lips were… A magical mix of soft and smooth, distinctly inhuman and yet just human enough at the same time. The HumaGear’s mouth tasted sweet and slightly minty, a flavour Fuwa had never found himself particularly enjoying before, but now couldn’t resist letting his tongue slide out, trailing across the graceful shape of Horobi’s lips—the fire inside him blazed even stronger when those lips parted immediately, allowing him delve further into the HumaGear’s mouth. Horobi pushed back eagerly despite the state he was in, his uninjured arm moving up to weave fingers into Vulcan’s damp hair, his own tongue sliding against Fuwa’s, coaxing him deeper. Vulcan fumbled for the HumaGear’s shoulder, gently leaning him back against the sofa so that he could climb into his lap—after a bit of awkward arranging, he was straddling Horobi’s hips as he began to kiss along his jaw, spurred onward when the HumaGear moaned softly, head tilting back.

It all felt so… _Perfect_. Pressed flush together, his arms wrapping around Horobi’s shoulders while the HumaGear’s long fingers combed through his hair, rubbing his scalp and pulling him nearer, making Vulcan moan against his throat when he hit particularly sensitive spots. It was a disappointment that Horobi’s other arm was inactive, laying still at his side—Fuwa longed to have the HumaGear’s touch exploring his body, moving across his skin… But this… This was plenty, especially under the circumstances. One of his hands settled on the back of the HumaGear’s neck to get a better angle, while the other arm shifted to begin slowly tracing his fingers over Horobi’s torso, as his lips trailed down to the base of the HumaGear’s throat, biting lightly at the false collar bone to prompt a slightly louder moan; he could feel his lower body reacting to the closeness and his desire, his pants starting to feel tight, and he rolled his hips forward, just a little, pressing Horobi further back into the sofa, drawing a mewl of pleasure from his own throat as they rubbed against each other.

“Isamu…” His name was hardly audible, a faint breath mixed with a groan, but it sent a delicious thrill through his whole body, “… You…” The HumaGear trailed off into another moan when Vulcan nipped gently at the centre of his faux collar bone.

Smiling slightly, Fuwa kissed back up Horobi’s throat, pressing his lips to the corner of the HumaGear’s jaw, just shy of the cracks in his artificial skin, and felt Horobi shudder beneath him. “… What is it…?”

The HumaGear’s fingers combed through his hair again, finding out the same places that made pleasure shoot through him each time they were touched, “You…” He’d never heard such gentleness in Horobi’s voice before, deep and warm, and soft, music to his ears—and at that moment, the HumaGear’s thumb brushed the ridge of one ear, “You…” The hand in his hair curled, gently pulling his head up so that their eyes met again…

“… You humans are so easy to deceive.”

Fuwa’s blood turned immediately to ice. His breathing caught. That wasn’t Horobi’s voice.

The eyes before him flashed red, and shot of white hot pain pierced his skull, unbalancing him and sending him crashing backwards and sideways to the floor, clutching his head. Horobi—no, the _Ark_ —rose slowly from the sofa, stepping over him, regarding him with a faintly disgusted expression. Gritting his teeth to think through the agony, he tried to squint upward through the spots appearing in his vision.

“Y… You…!” Even just trying to think enough to speak was torture, but he wasn’t about to let the satellite break him that easy, “Wh… Why…?!”

Why, indeed. He certainly hadn’t been on guard, it would have been simple for the Ark to take him out at any time, even without transforming, or Horobi’s katana. But instead, the satellite had…

“There was a lesson being learned.” The Ark replied cooly, gazing down at him in distaste for another moment before looking thoughtfully away. “Horobi has an… Unfortunate fascination with you.” Fuwa’s heartbeat jumped in a way he couldn’t completely attribute to the pain in his head—something the Ark evidently heard, because Horobi’s eyes, no longer glowing, but now the colour had shifted from the original chocolate brown hue to a blood red, flicked back down to him. “You like that?” A cruel, amused smirk flickered across Horobi’s features, something with a different, deeper tone than any of the HumaGear’s own expressions, “I thought you would.” A bare foot connected with Fuwa’s shoulder, pushing himonto his back to keep thrashing in pain and holding his head. “That’s why this was necessary,” The foot was set on Vulcan’s chest, stepping just hard enough that it impeded his ability to breathe, tangible even through the way his head felt like it was splitting in two, “I had to show him you really were just like every other human.” The satellite considered him for a moment, with a thoughtful look that was horribly similar to one of Horobi’s usual expressions that was a whole new wave of agony—even as the physical pain in his head faded slightly to be just barely bearable, “Though…” The Ark’s deep voice drawled, too casually for comfort, “I do have to admit…” The foot on Vulcan’s chest pressed a little harder, “I’m rather surprised.”Another smirk. “I expected you to be pushing him down the first chance you got, not trying to…” Tilting Horobi’s head a little, the Ark raised the HumaGear’s injured arm, red eyes examining the cloth wrapped around the damage, “… ‘Look after’ him.” There was an air of revulsion in the tone, like the satellite couldn’t fathom the thought of wanting to take care of the very HumaGear she was using as puppet.

One arm floundered downward from clutching his head, scrambling for Horobi’s ankle—his fingertips still tingling when he came into contact with the HumaGear’s skin. “His…” His voice was still just a rasp, but… If Horobi hadn’t been trying to get away from the Ark, then how had his arm… “His arm…” Vulcan gripped at the ankle a little tighter, “What did you do…?!”

The Ark laughed, a booming, thunderous, awful sound, that seemed to shake the walls, throwing Horobi’s head back. For a moment, there was only the horrid laughter—then the satellite looked back own at him, smirking even more. “How sweet,” She sneered, “But do not concern yourself.” Reaching around, she untied the scarf from the HumaGear’s arm, pulling it away—to reveal that the damage was completely gone. “I have complete control over his system,” The Ark explained, briefly looking over the arm before moving to raise the hand into Fuwa’s view, “This body belongs to me…” Vulcan could only watch in horror as the Ark’s red-tinged smog swirled around the hand, a mass of spikes and scaliness—and proceeded to eat away at the artificial skin, rotting it away right down to the mechanical skeleton before repairing it completely, while the satellite continued smirking, “… So I can do whatever I wish.”

Fuwa snarled, struggling against the foot pinning him to the ground. “Stop it!” The pain was still enough that it was difficult to focus, but anger drove him to resist all the same, trying to grab hold of the leg to claw his way up, “Stop hurting him!”

Another bout of laughter, crashing against his hearing. “Fool.” The Ark spat, leaning even harder in his chest for a moment, bending down so that the red eyes were staring right into Vulcan’s. “Horobi is my tool.” She told him, flatly. “And…” The foot was suddenly wrenched easily from his hold and gone from his chest. Reaching down, the satellite grabbed him by the front of his shirt, lifting him easily off the ground, leaning low so that Horobi’s face was close to his again, and Vulcan’s heart skyrocketed once more, “… So are you.” The Ark smirked when his eyes widened. “Oh? Did you forget?” Horobi’s other hand drifted up to tap a finger tip again his temple, and his skin prickled pleasantly at the touch, despite the circumstances, “You’ve got a little something in here that lets me right in…” For a moment, the pain intensified again, like a molten spike was trying to burst out of his brain—and faded just as abruptly.

It didn’t so much stop hurting as he suddenly felt… Disconnected from his body. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t move, like there was a wall blocking his mental commands. It was drastically different than when Naki had overridden him via the chip—that had felt like being gagged, shoved in a back room, trying to listen through the door or from the bottom of a deep hole. This was… He was still there, still aware of everything, perhaps even _more_ aware. When Naki had taken over, it had been a struggle to focus, to dig his way back out. This… He couldn’t move so much as a finger on his own, but he was fully present.

His breath, however, could still shorten, his heart race—and they did, as the Ark pulled him effortlessly over and sat him up against the sofa, crouching down beside him and reaching out to cup his face in Horobi’s palm. Horobi’s thumb brushed across his lips, proving that only conscious movements were suppressed when an involuntary shiver ran through him at the touch. Then those fingers were moving upward, combing through his hair, smoothing the wet curls back from his face in gentle, deceptively tender motions. “There… Much better…”

Fuwa tried to respond, say something, maybe scream—but his throat closed around the sound like something was pulling taught around it, and it came out only as a choked whimper.

A dark chuckle shook the air. “Oh, don’t worry,” The Ark’s tone was completely casual as she moved, shifting around him, “We’re still teaching…”

Without giving him even a moment to comprehend what was happening, she straddled his lap, fingers weaving deeper into his hair while the other hand lighted on his upper arm. Fuwa dearly wished he could force his body to not react—but that was impossible when, Ark or no, it was Horobi on top of him, leaning close to whisper, those perfect lips brushing against his ear. “I spoke only the truth—he wants you.” Vulcan’s breath caught in his throat for a whole new reason, his heart crashing against his ribs; the Ark smirked, and began to slowly trace Horobi’s lips down the side of his neck, the hand on his arm trailing slowly downward, making his skin heat up again. “In fact… You’re only the second thing _he’s_ ever wanted.” The satellite moved back upward, this time biting and pinching the skin slightly, “His system went mad when you touched us…” The hand slipped off his arm, landing on his hip, “And you have no _idea_ how _desperately_ his body wants to touch _you_ …” The lower hand began sliding up under Vulcan’s shirt, playing across his abdomen, that wonderful, tingling, burning sensation following every touch. The other fingers were still working through his hair, rubbing his scalp, easily finding the spots that made him shudder and whimper, “But, see…” The satellite brought Horobi’s head back up to lean his forehead against Fuwa’s, putting the red eyes right in Vulcan’s line of vision, voice taking on an almost… _Crooning_ edge as the hand under Fuwa’s shirt continued up, over his chest, “… I’m not looking to share this body with _anyone_ , especially not any _human_.”

Horobi’s eyes glowed red once more. The dark, oily smog that had tried to force its way into his skull at the bridge seeped out of the HumaGear’s body, reaching out in long, twisting tendrils, stretching toward Fuwa. One coil lightly brushed his cheek, sending a significantly more unpleasant chill down his spine—it felt… Alive. Fluid and soft, though also cool and… Pulsing. It had a scaly texture and slithered like a snake body, but one without a skeleton—and the motions were more conscious and controlled than a mere latent section of body following a head, especially as it touched his face again, more purposefully, slowly caressing his cheek like a finger. More tentacles stretched out, curling around his arms, neck, torso, wrapping him up like she was trying to cocoon them together. Fuwa’s heart and breathing went even faster, scratching his throat, beginning to tremble, as the Ark’s goo began to… _Feel_ him, skittering and gliding across his skin, slipping beneath his shirt, moving in tandem with the hand already there, tracing shapes across his chest. More threads seeped upward to join the fingers combing through his hair while the one stroking his cheek moved slowly down to run across his lips, pressing gently, pushing them apart with ease and working between them, sending a wave of nausea through him when it brushed his tongue, leaving a trail of ugly, bitter taste.

He gagged, and felt a ripple of laughter run through the HumaGear sitting on top of him, and he felt those lips curl into a smirk against his throat in the kisses between the smoke’s horrid touching. “Mmm…” The Ark rolled Horobi’s hips forward slightly, rubbing against him again at the same time one of her grotesque tendrils curled around a nipple, tightening and twisting, drawing a strangled whine from him. At that, the Ark pulled back to appear in his vision once more, smirk widening, one eyebrow raised, “… You are _remarkably_ sensitive, aren’t you…” She mused, dropping suddenly back into Horobi’s voice, a sensation like a sharp jab to the ribs.

The expression was so unbearably perfect on the HumaGear’s face, so like those unique, memorable, seductive smirks. But he knew it wasn’t. This wasn’t Horobi’s choice anymore than it was his. He didn’t know if he hoped the HumaGear was at all awake in there, that they were almost in this together, or if he wanted Horobi completely unaware of this, shielded from this agony, at least. Gathering what little energy he still had, he mustered what he hoped was a glare, anger rising like hot bile in his throat, even as the Ark became more aggressive with both hands and the smog.

The satellite just laughed again, the tendril toying with his nipple tightened again, another tentacle slithering in to work the other one, too, making his body jolt and gasp. “Look at you…” The Ark moved Horobi’s hand from under Vulcan’s shirt, running a proper fingertip down Fuwa’s jaw to lightly tap his chin, “You’re trying to act all righteous…” Another, more deliberate, roll of the HumaGear’s hips, slowly rutting against Vulcan’s lap, “… But you’re still so hard all over…”

He was, and he hated it. Not only was it Horobi’s body touching him, rubbing against him, but… As horrid as the touch of the Ark-smoke was, the satellite was wasting no time in going directly for the most sensitive parts of his body, from his scalp to even beginning to tuck tendrils beneath the waistband of his sweatpants. And his body was reacting—eagerly—to the stimulation; his cock was painfully—disgustingly—hard, his nipples quickly following suit despite his loathing for the things, the one, that was toying with them.

It was _so_ horrible and felt _so_ good, all at once.

The Ark watched his face for a moment, moving Horobi’s hands to grab the shirt and yank it carelessly over his head while the… Goo continued to move, finding out places that made him tremble and whimper. “Mm, you like it…” She crooned, rubbing a little harder against him as she finished tossing the shirt aside, prompting a startled moan, “And he certainly loves seeing you like this… All worked up and desperate…” Another chuckle accompanied by a beautiful smirk, “Though he doesn’t like that it’s all because of _me_ …” Taking Vulcan’s face in Horobi’s hands, the satellite leaned in and pressed those wonderful lips to his once more, soft and tender, even as the tendrils began to crawl down his legs, slowly covering his body, as one slid into the corner of his mouth in-between kisses, filling it with that disgusting, bitter taste once more.

His mind was a raging storm of revulsion, rage, and arousal all crashing, fighting, and mixing together. He wanted _Horobi_ so badly—those lips, those hands… And the Ark’s smog was apparently perfectly aware of the most sensitive parts of his body, effortlessly overloading his mind with instinctive, physical pleasure even though she had yet to touch the most obvious spots at all, even as his reasoning and awareness strived against the wave of sensations. Worse, when he did manage to focus his eyes… The tendrils were doing the very same to the HumaGear’s body—he could see them slithering beneath the old shirt, creeping down under the jeans. There were even ones that appeared to be issuing from the damaged parts of Horobi’s head, snaking across his face—one in particular seemed very deliberate in the way it coiled around his mouth, even stroking his lip.

Through it all, he tried to focus on something else, on how the Ark’s words made another feeling flutter in his chest, a knot of something significantly less unpleasant than the rest of it, attaching to the floaty feeling that remained with the knowledge that Horobi really did want _him_ , too. She had said… Another, more aggressive roll of Horobi’s hips ground them together even more, drawing a small cry from Fuwa’s throat, but he tried to cling to the truly pleasant things—so Horobi was aware, wanted him, wanted the same thing, but also… Horobi didn’t like _this_ , didn’t want the _Ark_ doing _this_. That was something. Progress. A little bit, at least. Maybe. Maybe he actually meant something to the HumaGear, beyond physical interest.

His thoughts were decidedly interrupted when Horobi’s tongue touched his bottom lip, then thrust into his mouth along with the tendril that was already worming in between his lips, also forcing him to taste the one that was toying with the HumaGear’s mouth. He hated how the surprised sound he made was mixed with a moan, especially as the Horobi’s hands once again joined the fluid tendrils in trailing across his skin, making his body tingle once more. The Ark kissed him, quite thoroughly, for a long while, indifferent to the fact that his lungs began to ache from lack of breath, and he let out a painful wheeze when she at last pulled back. The satellite continued watching his face with that same provocative smirk, moving Horobi’s hands down to slip fingertips into his waistband. The tendrils playing with his nipples shifted and pulsed, pinching and twisting, even changing shape and texture, making it harder to focus, his head spinning even more.

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat as best he could, even as another tentacle of the Ark’s smog wriggled its way into his mouth—he could feel wetness forming in his eyes, but more tendrils slithering up his face crawled up there, too, brushing the tears away with cruel sweetness before he could even shed them. No… He couldn’t break. Angry, he needed to stay angry. Stay focused. He put every single shred of resistance he had into glaring, or at least keep the rage in his eyes, even as the tendrils squirming under over his skin continued exploring.

“Mmm…” He was going to be hearing that amused hum in his nightmares, wavering between Horobi’s own voice and the Ark’s deeper tones, “Still so defiant…” Leaning in again, the satellite ran Horobi’s tongue slowly, agonisingly up his throat, sending a simultaneous ripple through the oily smog that made it prickle where it touched his skin, “So defiant and so sensitive… So _human_ …” She moved back up, and let those lovely lips brush his just slightly once more, smirking again when he whimpered, “You…” She nipped at his lower lip too gently for comfort, “… Are the perfect experiment.”

Fuwa’s blood turned even colder than it had when he realised it was the Ark. Horror joined the mad tumult going on inside him—he knew when it showed in his eyes, because the Ark’s smile became a grin. The expression on Horobi’s face was nothing short of beautiful, but the bare cruelty in it made it impossible to forget who it really was doing this.

The satellite just laughed yet again, and he felt the tendrils moving in his sweatpants swirling, moving towards the one place they had yet left untouched—his body jolted sharply when a particularly thick strand wrapped slowly around the base of his still-hard cock. “The only question is…” She briefly closed the space between them again, kissing him once more, the tendrils of ooze in both their mouths twisting and moulding together, even when she pulled away; at the same time, he felt the slime creeping down his spine to his waist, and whined involuntarily again when it kept going down, slithering with similar, painstaking slowness into the crack of his backside, worming between the cheeks, “… Shall I fuck you as him, or show you all the things I can do with his body…?” Horobi’s hands settled on his hips, pausing in rutting against him for a moment. One hand slipped downward, into his sweats, reaching around to squeeze his backside—yet another smirk flickered across the HumaGear’s delicate features when he trembled in response.

“Mmm… I do like the sound of the first one…” The satellite leaned in to press Horobi’s perfect lips to the corner of his jaw gently—in contrast, however, the hand on his backside gave an even tighter squeeze, one that was echoed by Ark mass enveloping him, especially the tendrils still working his nipples and the one steadily making its way along his shaft at the same time the tentacle threading into his backside brushed his entrance, forcing a loud moan from his lips, “You’re so soft, so warm, so reactive…” She kissed down his neck again, biting at his collarbone with the same, deceptive tenderness, “I just want to feel all of you… Consume you… Force you open and rip you apart…” The tendrils working his sensitive spots pulsed again, another one wrapping around his cock, while the one feeling out his backside began to trace circles around his entrance, still slow, still… Teasing.

Despite the best efforts of what was left of his mind, held together entirely by rage and a poor hope that maintaining a shred of defiance would be a comfort to the HumaGear the damn Ark was puppet-ing, another shameful moan dragged out of him. The satellite laughed again, yet another sound he was sure would be etched into his worst dreams. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?” She murmured, switching back to Horobi’s voice, just to make the words all the more awful, “I know your type, I have all the data on people like you…” The hand not feeling his backside moved up to his shoulder, pushing him back against the side of the sofa, putting the HumaGear’s face close to his once more, “You talk all tough, but what you really want is to be dominated, pinned to the ground and fucked without mercy…” The tendrils working his cock sped up slightly, and the one in his backside pressed flush against his hole, not quite entering him, but enough to make him whimper and shudder again, much to her delight, from the resulting grin—then the look turned frighteningly thoughtful, “Or… Shall I have _you_ do that to _him_?”

Hearing that horrifying question in Horobi’s voice was so much worse than if it had been in the Ark’s usual cadence. A ball of lead formed in his stomach—on the one hand, briefly dulling the overstimulation of the tendrils still working his body in any way they could, but on the other… He was certain it was about to get much, _much_ worse.

The satellite just watched him with mounting delight, another gorgeous, sadistic grin spreading across the HumaGear’s face. “Mmmm…” She leaned in too close once more, those lips brushing the crown of his cheek, Horobi’s tongue darting out to lick away a frightened, furious tear that slipped past the waiting tendrils. “… You know…” Shifting over, she lightly touched their noses, pretending to be tender again, but he could see the cruel glint in her look, something far darker than he’d could ever remember seeing in Horobi’s eyes, even when he’d been in the depths of loyalty to her—it had never been anything quite like this, “You know…” She repeated, still in Horobi’s voice, still murmuring sweetly, lovingly—the very way he wished the HumaGear would speak to him; but it was _Horobi_ he wanted to hear, not her, “You _know_ …” Another small, soft kiss, “… I think we can manage both.”

Before Fuwa’s addled brain could even begin to process what was happening, he was seized by the arm and hauled forward as the Ark tipped backwards, dragging him down with her so that he ended up sprawled over Horobi’s chest, their faces landing a hair’s breadth apart. The hand on his arm moved to his shoulder, pushing him back up, the hand on his backside mercifully moving to his hip to also reposition him—although he could still very decidedly feel every horrid tendril wrapped around him. It was only a few quick adjustments to arrange them so that he was caging the HumaGear, loosely straddling him—and…

Even with the Ark’s cruel amusement in his eyes, the damned dark, glowing sludge crawling all over him, Horobi looked… _So_ beautiful. His hair was practically dry, faster than a human’s would be (Fuwa could still feel his mostly clinging to his scalp while the tentacles kept combing through it), starting to slip free of the shape years of keeping it under the wrap had moulded it into, forming a small halo around his face. Despite the sadistic glee, the Ark allowed that face to soften for a moment, look surprised and as innocent as the HumaGear had those times in the AIMS Headquarters—for a second, Vulcan’s heart fluttered for another reason. But then the upper hand was reaching up and stroking his cheek again, the one on his hip slipping back downward as a sadistic smirk formed on that lovely face. “Well, well…” She was still speaking completely in Horobi’s voice, and each word was a painful jab in what was little of himself he was still hanging onto, “You like him like this, too, do you?” The HumaGear’s hips shifted, rubbing against him once more, “Big, powerful human finally has the rogue HumaGear at his mercy, hm?”

To his own surprise, Fuwa managed a small, angry growl deep in his throat—only to abruptly receive a sharp strike to his backside, hard enough that it stung through the cloth of his sweats, turning the sound into a small yelp. “None of that.” For a moment, the voice changed back into the Ark’s deeper one, the eyes narrowing. “There’s no point in trying to pretend. I know everything.” There she paused, watching him, trembling and whimpering weakly, still frantically trying to hold it together despite the fact that the tendrils had not ceased their work, “Like, for example…” The annoyance slowly gave way to another small, gorgeous smirk, and she smacked his backside again, just a bit harder, making him flinch, and cry out once more. The upper hand grabbed a handful of his hair, dragging his head back down so that Horobi’s lips brushed his ear again, “… I know how much you liked that.” Another hit, even harder, and he tried to bite his lip to muffle the sound it brought from him—only for the tendrils still feeling about in his mouth to force it open again.

Fortunately, the satellite chose not to do it again—even though the hand stayed on his backside, squeezing tightly again, prompting yet another small whine. “But we can play with that later…” The hand in his hair slipped down to touch his cheek again, wiping away the little trails of tears that were trickling past the tentacles still coiled around his eyes to catch most of the water. “For now… I’m quite eager to continue with our original plan…” Fuwa would have loved to snap that it was entirely _her_ plan, and neither he nor Horobi had any say in it—but even without the satellite’s control over the chip in his head, the tendrils crawling all over him were making it next to impossible to put two thoughts together.

The Ark didn’t waste a moment, anyway. “Well then…” Giving him a cruelly gentle pat on the cheek and another, much rougher, squeeze of his backside, she abruptly dropped both Horobi’s hands to the floor on either side of his head in a cruel mockery of innocence. The smirk shifted into that sadistic playfulness, Horobi’s head tilting slightly in a way that made his heart skyrocket even more. “… Shall we?”

Everything was so overwhelming—the tendrils touching every part of him so delicately and thoroughly, how infuriatingly beautiful the HumaGear was, the reassurance that Horobi was also interested in _him_ … Despite his desperate attempts to fight it… He was still hard as a rock, to the point it was almost more painful than pleasant, and yet… Even though he wished he could just fall over the edge and end it, he just… Couldn’t. He didn’t know if a weird combination of disgust and rage was keeping him together—or perhaps the Ark’s control over the chip really went that deep, that she was actively keeping him from… Another vibration ran through the smog coiling around him, scrambling his mind again and drawing out another unwilling sound.

The Ark’s smirk only widened, “Go on…” She murmured promptly, still using Horobi’s voice, tormenting Vulcan even more, “It’s what you were drooling over before, isn’t it?” Fuwa’s head was spinning in so many ways—he was horrified and disgusted, with the Ark, with the slime still coating his body, still diligently working on all of his most sensitive parts, and with himself, for reacting to it, for the surge of desire and longing he felt run through him at the idea of actually seeing what was under those clothes…

The satellite merely raised an eyebrow at him—and then his arms were moving, without any input from his brain. He felt like a puppet being pulled along by strings, only able to watch as his hands gripped the hem of the old shirt, peeling it off—to reveal the weblike weave of the Ark’s tendrils coating Horobi’s body just like they were his own, hitting Vulcan with a wave of nausea—that lasted until the strands of smoke coiled around him vibrated and twisted again, sending another blast of physical stimulation through him. The satellite didn’t bother waiting for his mind to catch up—after tossing the shirt aside, his hands reached for the front of the jeans, pulling them open without ceremony. Hooking his fingers into the waistband, he found himself pulling the pants easily downward with the same indifferent efficiency, motions fluid and easy purely because of the Ark hijacking the chip in his head. It wasn’t possible to get the jeans all the way off without changing their positions, but he—the Ark—got them down far enough to push Horobi’s legs open as much as possible anyway, taking great care to position the HumaGear in the most vulnerable way he—she—could. Straightening back up, she paused him for a moment, forcing him to look over what she’d made him do.

Fuwa hated how his mouth still went dry—even under these circumstances, like this, that horrid darkness gliding over every centimetre of skin, Horobi was _so_ … The HumaGear was actually surprisingly thin, considering how strong he was as an android—he looked far more doll-like and delicate than Vulcan had expected, though in the back of his mind, he supposed it definitely matched Horobi’s face, and in fact made him even more… Appealing. He _liked_ how light and fragile the HumaGear’s body was—the sight started a warm fire in his chest, gave him the urge to hold him close like a precious treasure. Automatically, his eyes flicked downward and his breath caught, despite the fact that the sludge had found its way down there, too, was stroking like it was on him… Longing bubbled up in him, to reach out, to touch… This situation was so infuriatingly close to dreams he’d had, things he’d imagined, but… But leave it to the Ark to ruin absolutely everything, her crushing presence seeping back in, smothering up the new sensations.

On cue, Horobi’s eyes glowed red again for a moment, watching him through lowered lids, “Mmm…” That horrid sound again, and the smirk slowly turned into one of a satisfied cat, “He rather liked that when it was you doing it…” Fuwa’s heart banged even louder in his chest at that, his lungs tightening once more. The Ark just chuckled again, slipping the HumaGear’s tongue out to run over his lips simultaneously with the tendrils already there in a slow, horrid, disgustingly provocative way, “… I’ll have to keep that in mind…” The red faded from Horobi’s irises as they focused back on Vulcan’s face, the satellite returning the expression to that soft, entrancing look that made Fuwa’s heart jump into his throat, despite the edge of cruelty still visible in those beautiful eyes, “But for now… We should continue.” She shifted, reaching down to lightly trace the shape of Fuwa’s cock, straining desperately at his sweatpants, making him shudder even though Horobi’s fingers were barely touching it—a shake that intensified when the tendrils stroking him reacted, rippling, changing texture again, like she was… Testing. “I know you’re eager to let this out…” Then his hands were at his own waistband, pushing it down, working the sweats down his legs—soon, she had manipulated him into pulling them all the way off, tossing them aside with the same indifference as she had done with the shirt.

The satellite looked him over from under the HumaGear’s long lashes, another smirk pulling at the corners of Horobi’s lips, the emulated breathing actually stuttering for a moment. “Well, well…” For the first time, hearing words in Horobi’s voice was almost a comfort because of how shaky, amazed and even… Delighted they sounded, “Look at that…” The HumaGear’s fingertips skirted around the very base of his erection, carefully to only slightly brush the shaft occasionally, watching his reaction closely. But the satellite was also very clearly enjoying the sight of her own… Presence working him, her gaze focusing on the motions, the tendrils sliding purposefully up and down his length, licking Horobi’s lips again, “I look _quite_ good on you…” Somehow, impossibly, much to his own horror… It felt like he was getting even _harder_ from the ministrations. She had to be holding him back, that was the only explanation.

But then Horobi’s fingers were reaching up to graze the skin of his cheek again in that mockingly tender way. “But first…” That elegant touch trailed down his face, playing across his lips, dipping the tips into his mouth for her own amusement, “… Shall we get him ready to have that nice, hard cock inside him?” She talked like something out of one of the handful of truly awful pornos he’d watched to try and manage pent up aggression and energy, and yet… Hearing the words in Horobi’s voice would have been hundreds of times, millions, better than any of those films… Except for the one he knew was actually saying it.

The Ark was still watching him, absently sliding the HumaGear’s fingers deeper into his mouth with an expression that was terrifyingly thoughtful. After holding his gaze for a moment, however, studying his face, she merely let Horobi’s hand drop back to the floor, reassuming that same false surrender, giving another small smirk. Then the HumaGear’s eyes glowed red again.

The Ark’s smog wrapping around Horobi’s body shifted, slithering downward—the motion and the satellite’s influence drawing Fuwa’s gaze down with it. The smoke gathered between the HumaGear’s legs, swirling around in a horribly hypnotic way—and as much as he tried, Vulcan couldn’t make himself look away. Just like she had done with his hand before, Horobi’s body was… _Changing_ under the fog. It appeared to be seeping inside him, motions grotesquely delicate and thorough, burrowing in and opening up an entrance into his body. The sight was even more appalling because of the way the HumaGear shuddered, shifting and gasping softly—as if there were sensitive spots inside him that the ooze was brushing against, or perhaps the satellite was _creating_ those places and simultaneously experiencing their stimulation through Horobi.

Finally, the trembling and panting faded, the smoke stopped swirling—but it stayed inside the HumaGear, pulsing and slithering, lining the hole it had created between Horobi’s legs. It was in precisely the perfect spot, the right angle for… Again, Fuwa was repulsed with himself for the burning urge to move, thrust forward, plunge deep inside.

The Ark watched his face, her cruel amusement shining in Horobi’s eyes again. “Go on…” She prompted, tilting the HumaGear’s head enticingly, furrowing Horobi’s eyebrows in that painfully attractive way, almost… Pleadingly, “I made it just for you…” It was absolutely disgusting how much he wanted to, for so many reasons—his desire for the HumaGear, the desperate agony for a chance at release, her worming suggestion in the back of his mind, like it was wrapped around the chip itself. She wasn’t forcing him, not yet, but… He could feel her, slithering in his mind just like the tendrils still moving over his skin, whispering, prompting, urging him to give in. She even rearranged Horobi’s face into one of his beautiful frowns, looking almost… Sad, making his chest hurt despite everything else.

When he still managed to hold on, the frown deepened, and the tendril teasing his entrance pressed even harder, rubbing against him, forcing a moan from his lips. “Do it,” The Ark hissed, still using Horobi’s voice, one hand snaking down to grip his hip tightly, tugging slightly in frustration, “I want to enter you at the same time you enter us…”

That made his stomach turn—only for the tendril to push against him again, drawing out another unwilling whine. Taking that as encouragement, all the other tentacles crawling over him intensified their work, working him with inhuman dedication—with another small cry, he very nearly slumped over, held up only by the satellite’s puppet strings. For the first time in ages, his voice dragged from him in an unconscious, desperate whimper, “H… Horobi…!”

The Ark tilted Horobi’s head sharply to the other side, frown turning darkly thoughtful, “I see…” One of those magnificent, terrifying smirks flickered across the HumaGear’s face, “How silly of me…” The hand on his hip gripped a little tighter, thumb tracing the shape of the bone, “You want it to be _him_ you’re burying your cock in, don’t you?…” A chill ran through Fuwa, despite the heat from everything else—yes, he did want… Want to… But not like this, not…!

Horobi’s lids fluttered slightly, and the red faded from his eyes, returning them to the original brown. The instant the colour finished restoring, the HumaGear’s eyes widened, and Vulcan felt him start to tremble slightly under him. It was incredibly convincing… But so had the Ark’s original performance. Had she really given Horobi back some level of awareness, or was she toying with him again? Even worse, he felt her presence in his own mind shift, pulling back just slightly—enough for him to speak on his own. And he… He couldn’t resist. “Ho… Horobi…?” The word was hoarse and weak, shaking and breaking, and slightly panicked, more tears rising in his eyes, only to be caught by the waiting tendrils still crawling over his cheeks.

After a moment of glassy staring, the HumaGear’s eyes focused on his face—and something flickered in them that made Fuwa’s chest tighten in a much nicer way. “Vulcan…” Horobi’s voice was equally uneven and breathless, and… Vulcan didn’t know if he was deluding himself, but the tone, the inflection was… Different. Even then it had been at the start—could it really be…? The HumaGear’s eyes closed for a moment, his emulated breathing shaking, then opened them again—and the resignation in his look felt like another jab to the ribs. “… Just… Just do it…” Despite the words, Horobi’s voice was shaking slightly and there was definite fear in his gaze.

Fuwa tried to will his body to move, shake his head, his own breath catching. “N… No…!” He tried to swallow again, but got a mouth full of the bitter taste because of the tentacles still tucking into his mouth, “I… I can’t…” He wished he could hold onto the sick feeling in his stomach, make that the predominate sensation, not the mounting, overwhelming desperation for release. This was wrong, this wasn’t him. He didn’t…

Something flickered across Horobi’s face that looked almost like a smile, soft and sorrowful, painful because of the situation they were in, holding Fuwa’s eyes. “You can…” He murmured, that weary acceptance heartbreakingly plain—to the point he almost looked like he was about to start crying, biting his lip slightly. “… You can…” The HumaGear didn’t appear to be anymore capable of moving than Fuwa was, but Vulcan felt something connect between them—a new, genuine warmth in Horobi’s gaze that somehow gave him the sensation of a ghostly hand smoothing comfortingly over his hair despite the tendrils still weaving through it. Abruptly, he remembered what Bot-hakase had said, about Horobi being originally designed as a Father-Type, and felt even more ashamed of… Everything. The situation, his personal desires that had allowed this to happen, the attraction he _still_ felt for the HumaGear…

Horobi sighed again as if gathering his resolve, as if they had a choice in the matter. “… Take me.” The words were steady, but just barely, veiled in a fragile semblance of control—his voice was still quiet, fraying at the edges, and Fuwa could still feel him trembling, “It is the will of the Ark.”

Fuwa wanted to snap that he didn’t care about the Ark, but the way she had them both at her mercy like this with no way to escape made that a bad idea. He didn’t know what he could say—there wasn’t really a choice in the matter, either from the Ark’s control or from his own shameful urges. “I… I don’t-”

“I know.” Another sigh, eyes still tender. “Please.” The brittle calm began to crack into entreating—making Fuwa wonder if the Ark was also whispering in the HumaGear’s head. “ _Please_.”

The begging broke him. He managed to drag up an arm to reach the HumaGear’s hand, clumsily intertwining their fingers, trying to take advantage of his brief chance at free motion to give some sort of comfort for both of them; Horobi’s other hand slipped off his hip, dropping back to the floor to give him space. Without the Ark controlling him, his movements were stiff and slow, but she still allowed him to be the one to set up, shifting forward and lining up. He tried to keep his focus on Horobi’s face, his heart pounding in his ears—for a moment, he stayed there, trying to see if she would finally step in… But she didn’t. She was going to make him do it.

He let his hips roll slowly forward, trying to take it easy, trying to… But there was no preparing for the sensation, the jolt that ran through him as the head of his cock slipped inside the HumaGear—and, simultaneously, the tendril toying with his own entrance began to slide into him. Horobi let out a soft, musical moan, his head tipping back, lids drooping, and beautiful picture of pleasure that was a small comfort in their situation; the ooze pressing into Vulcan’s ass began to writhe and… Expand, slowly and thoroughly filling him up at the same cautious pace he was pushing into Horobi, drawing a low grown from his own throat. He felt the Ark’s pressure in his mind again, a sense of impatience, the smog inside him squirming, stretching out smaller tendrils that… _Tickled_ inside him in a horrible, disgustingly almost _pleasant_ way. Reminders that the satellite had made sure the HumaGear’s body was completely ready, that he could go faster, were pushed into his mind, and the tendril in his ass pulsing and growing, stretching him as it went in, and with the stuff all over them, lubricant wasn’t an issue, but… The least defiance he could have was to move slowly, try to memorise the gorgeous, overcome look on Horobi’s face as he pushed into him.

But soon, much too soon, their bodies met, and he was fully seated inside the HumaGear, feeling him shudder underneath him. It was horrible. And… Amazing. The Ark truly had been very deliberate in the way she’d created the entrance into Horobi’s body—it was clearly specifically made to accommodate him, tight enough to feel like the HumaGear’s body was stretching around him, while also perfectly formed so that his shaft was filling Horobi up completely, exactly hitting all the right places she had created inside him. Meanwhile, the tendrils of smog in his ass had seeped in as deep as possible, squeezing into every crevice of his body, expanding to stretch him practically to the limit. He stopped there, trying to catch his breath, get his bearings, something, before whatever was coming next. And, for a second, the Ark let them have that peace.

Then Fuwa felt the satellite’s puppet strings wrapping around his joints again. She didn’t make him let go of Horobi’s hand, merely reaching down with the other arm to hold the HumaGear’s hip, gripping a bit tighter than necessary. _Now then_ … That deep voice echoed in his head as if it were his own thoughts, _… Shall we?_ He knew it wasn’t a question—and she didn’t wait for an answer, already drawing back.

With the Ark back in control, his movements became fluid again, each motion effortless and steady, and she immediately set an aggressive and unyielding pace. The way the smoke was lining both the hole and his cock made every motion completely smooth, sliding easily in and out with each thrust. The satellite’s mass inside him quickly located a spot that made his mind completely short circuit, forcing out a loud cry. The ooze wasn’t exactly driving into him, more pulsing and… Changing inside him, in perfect time with the thrusts, and it rearranged to hit that place repeatedly. It felt like she was trying to seep all the way inside him, felt unnatural and inhuman—but just like every other touch, she immediately located every place that also made it all feel _so_ disgustingly incredible—and Horobi… Was _so_ gorgeous. Moaning softly every time Fuwa pushed into him again, shivering and writhing slightly, his head tilted back. Would this be what he looked like if they were truly…?

But this wasn’t… Neither of them had had a choice in this. Rape. This was definitely… The Ark was using—forcing—him to rape Horobi while she raped him.

It went on for far too long, the Ark crawling all over them, working him from the inside and using him to fuck Horobi—but at long last, _finally_ , it ended. His mind completely overloaded and he spilled over the edge with a long moan, felt his release shooting into the HumaGear before the Ark let go and he was slumping bonelessly over on top of Horobi. Beneath him, he felt the HumaGear shudder and stiffen, saw lights flickering rainbow from the corners of his eyes, “Is… Isamu…!” Hearing his name whispered like that, in an unmistakable fervour of climax, made his heart flutter pleasantly again, despite the situation. There was another moment of quiet—the smog slithering over their bodies stilled, at least, though it did not remove itself from him, and Fuwa found himself able to at least squeeze the HumaGear’s hand.

He felt fingers in his hair again, combing through the curls. “… It has been a long time…” Whispered the Ark’s voice right beside his ear, “… Since I enjoyed myself so much.”

All relief vanished immediately. The satellite pulled Horobi’s hand free from his, coiling arms around him, fingertips massaging his scalp again, the other hand trailing down his spine, making him shiver once more. Those elegant lips pressed again to the corner of his jaw, just below his ear. “You _are_ a treat, Vulcan… I may just understand the appeal.” The hand on his back slid down to squeeze his backside once more. “Normally I just have to make do experimenting in Horobi’s mind, but _you_ …” Another, harder squeeze, “… I can definitely call this a successful experiment.” And all over again, Fuwa wanted to throw up.

In a flash, the HumaGear’s hand moved to his hip again, and the Ark was rolling them over, pressing him onto his back on the floor before pushing up to cage him—a motion that leaned Horobi’s hips against his, and the satellite to the opportunity to grind against his lap, making sure his shaft was still fully seated inside the HumaGear before settling down to watch his face. The hand on his head moved to stroke his cheek with a horribly familiar false gentleness. “Mmm…” That sound again, that made his hair stand on end, “If you’re still worried,” Another terrifyingly beautiful smirk, “He _quite_ liked it, too.” Vulcan did his best to glare at her, but the cruelly amused eyebrow raise he got in response told him it wasn’t very impressive. “Impudent as always.” She patted his cheek lightly. “But I think I like that.” The smirk became a proper grin that made his heart drop through the floor, especially when she leaned forward, putting Horobi’s face close to his, the eyes red again. “In fact… I’ve a mind to keep you…” She tilted the HumaGear’s head slightly—and the next words came in Horobi’s voice, “… Fuwa Isamu.”

Yet again, his blood ran cold. The Ark moved back just enough to trail the HumaGear’s fingers down his throat. “You can be our pet…” The other hand joined in as she continued in the HumaGear’s voice, playing across the planes of his chest, tracing the lines of his body, lingering around his nipples, “One human won’t destroy the world… And you’re so delectable, stripped bare and helpless like this…” A sudden ripple ran through the ooze still crammed inside him, forcing out a surprised whimper, and she laughed in her own voice, “And you make the most delightful sounds.” Leaning back in, the satellite kissed the corner of his jaw again, and then he felt the HumaGear’s teeth tugging lightly at his earlobe, “I _am_ still curious what noises you’ll make if I were burying his cock inside you… Will you whimper and moan for that? Beg, maybe?” Fuwa couldn’t swallow the gasp, or stop his heartbeat from skyrocketing once m ore at the suggestion, and he heard her rumbling chuckle right against his ear, “Mmm… You’d love that wouldn’t you? Being fucked and touched and _owned_ … You thirsty little human…” Sitting back up, she twisted his nipples lightly, drawing out another whine, and laughed again, “Yes, I think we’ll do that…” Almost mercifully, one hand let go to walk fingers up his throat again, “Just slip a collar around this pretty neck and you’ll be the _perfect_ little dog…”

Fuwa wanted to scream. Struggle. Throw her off. Do _something_. But she’d robbed him of movement again. He did _not_ want to be a pet. And even if he did… Want… Horobi… In… It was _Horobi_ he wanted, not _her_. He wanted to scream, or fight, or… Those fingers ran through his hair again, rubbing the tender spots and he gasped against his will. The Ark leaned forward again, the HumaGear’s eyes glowing bright red again, those perfect lips moving for his once more—

Then stopped.

Shifting back, she tilted Horobi’s head to the side, the smirk turning into an equally attractive frown. She wasn’t looking at him, but slightly off to the side, like she was listening to someone who wasn’t there. For so long it made an icy knot in Vulcan’s chest, she just sat there, perfectly still.

“… Very well.” She said at last, going back to her own, rumbling tones, “But if you are lying to me…” Horobi’s head tilted to the other side, “… I will have you rip out Jin’s core processor, do you understand me?” Fuwa stared at her in another long breadth of silence—this time, her expression was darker, a look that felt like frost crawling into his marrow. “… Good.”

As suddenly as he had been grabbed the first time, the Ark was suddenly pulling away from him. He couldn’t stop a soft groan as he felt his cock slide out of the HumaGear’s body, or a weak sigh as the goo finally seeped out of his own entrance, began pulling off his skin, reabsorbing into Horobi. By the time the satellite was standing up, the smog was gone, nothing more than the occasional shifting flicker dancing over the HumaGear’s body. Leaving Fuwa still paralysed on the floor, she kicked off the jeans still hanging around the HumaGear’s ankles to make her way over to where Vulcan had left Horobi’s usual clothes. Fuwa wished he could pretend his eyes only followed as much as possible out of anxiety and caution, but… He wished he could have at least bit his lip or pinched himself for it, but once again, he couldn’t do a thing.

The satellite paid him no mind whatsoever, instead redressing the HumaGear she was controlling with practiced ease, taking great care in adjust the head wrap in a way that felt more threatening than tender. At last, she finished putting his boots back on, and turned back, stepping over and reaching down to grab Vulcan’s arm, hauling him up and sitting him up against the sofa again. She didn’t come down to his level, instead tucking Horobi’s hand under his chin and pulling his face up so that he had to look into the glowing red eyes again. “Count yourself lucky, Vulcan.” She told him, still in her own voice, “The only other puppet he’s ever bargained that hard for was _Jin_.” For a moment, she just stared at him—then she closed the distance between them, pressing Horobi’s lips to his in a sweet, soft kiss that she had no right giving after what she had just done. Just when his lungs were starting to ache for lack of air, she pulled back, giving him a terrifyingly intense stare. “At the very least, he’s got some of you inside him now…” That whisper was in Horobi’s voice, making his chest tighten, “And he quite likes that…” The HumaGear’s other hand smoothed over his curls, “So I’ll keep the entrance open…” A finger tapped his cheek, “Just in case.” With a last pat to the cheek, she moved away again—pausing only when she saw the blue scarf that she had dropped earlier, and snapped it up, looking it over, then shooting him one last smirk, “… We’ll take this.” And she left him.

Fuwa heard every single footfall across the floor, heard the door open, then close. He didn’t know how long it was before feeling started to return to his body, but it felt like pins and needles, ants crawling up his extremities. It felt like there was slime coating his mouth, and his first action was to cough loudly, listing forward—but even though he hacked so hard his throat hurt, the disgusting sensation remained. He didn’t try to recover his clothes, any of them—instead, when he finally felt able to do more than cough, he swung one arm out, then the other, and slowly began to drag himself, then crawl, towards the bathroom. Before anything else, he needed a shower. Twenty showers. Maybe even a thousand, though he didn’t like the idea of taking a leaf out of Amatsu’s book. He just… He could still feel that disgusting ooze all over him, like it had left a slime trail. He could still feel… He closed his eyes to try and re-centre himself… But only saw a vision of Horobi’s frightened expression when the Ark had… He shook his head, the picture remained. By the time he made it to the door, he had the strength to grab the door knob and pull himself up to his knees—but even then, he just about collapsed on the floor trying to make his way to the shower. He… He wanted… He needed… His head was spinning. He wanted… Needed…

He shook his head. He needed a shower. Even though he had the suspicion that even if he scrubbed until his whole body was sore, he’d never quite get the feeling of that soft, scaly… _Something_ off. But he had to at least try. And then he could throw up. Or stick his head underwater. Or something. Or… He shook his head. Shower. First, he needed a shower.

But even as he made it into the shower, closed the door and started the water without waiting… He knew it wasn’t going to make him feel any better.


End file.
